Chapter 27 Oh, Tate
OH, TATE
My first thought when I wake is that I wish I wasn’t alone. My second thought is a little more complex. I want my husband and I want Holt. I wish they were both here. Wish I could talk to them both.
Yeah, complex is an understatement. It’s also so not a thought I have the mental headspace to sift through.
Therefore, I threw off my covers, did my workout, had my shower, and slipped into a peach-colored sundress that was pretty and flowy with just enough of a slit to show some leg. It was one of Tate’s favorites.
I leave my hair down and do my makeup light.
I’m enjoying my coffee on the front porch—I donned a slouchy knit cardigan because although it’s sunny it’s still a bit brisk in the morning—when I see my parent’s front door open and all three of them spill out.
Mabel is in her nightgown with her favorite princess on it. Tatiana.
I bring my brew to my lips to hide my smile as Mabel waddles across the street. Under one arm, she clings to the rainbow caterpillar she sleeps with every night. Her hair is wild, and I already know taming it will be a workout in itself.
Dad points to my front door. “You got more of that in there?”
I lift my mug to my lips again. “A whole pot.”
He nods once and trudges inside. Mom takes the seat next to me while Mabel walks herself to the other side of the porch and climbs onto the porch swing. She curls up with her caterpillar and yawns but doesn’t close her eyes.
“Holt left earlier than I thought he’d leave last night.”
My eyes move from my daughter to my mother. “What?”
Mom shrugs innocently. “I just thought he’d stay a while.”
“He was here for hours. We had dinner.”
Mom’s brow rises. “Is that all you had?” I frown. Mom prompts, “No dessert?”
I groan. “Mom.”
Dad reappears from inside with two steaming mugs and a blanket tossed over one arm.
He hands a mug to Mom and makes his way to Mabel.
Balancing his mug on the porch railing, he tucks the blanket around her before he plants himself on the swing next to her.
He starts to sway the swing. Mabel yawns again.
“Looks like someone had a late night.”
“She was up round three this morning.” Dad slurps, clearly needing energy from the cup. “You forget what it’s like when you get old like us.”
“Speak for yourself!” Mom harrumphs. “I’m in my prime.”
My fingertips touch my chest in a gesture of mock offense. “I was an excellent sleeper.”
Dad throws a look at Mabel. “This is true. Consider us wholly unprepared for the realities of Mabel.”
I snicker. Dad takes another slurp, but he’s eyeing me with more curiosity than a sleep-deprived man would, so I don’t feel too bad.
“Owen make it home last night?”
“He did.”
“Before or after Holt left?”
“After.” I give nothing more to my nosey parents. “He’s still sleeping.”
“Teenage boys need their sleep.” Mom bobs her head, casting a look at my empty flowerpots. They were empty last summer, too. She touches a finger to the rim of one. “Tell me you’re going to fill these this year. I miss seeing the pretty spill of color from my porch.”
“You could plant your own flowers, you know.”
“I plant flowers!”
“Two pots, Mom. That’s not flowers.”
“I save the ‘going all out’ for you,” she harrumphs. “Besides, it’s too much work.”
“Maybe that’s why I’m not planting any. I’m strapped for time as it is.”
Mom gives me the look. I look away.
“I want flowers, Mommy,” Mabel mumbles from behind her blanket. “Rainbow ones.”
“Maybe we’ll go to the greenhouse.”
“Today?” She pokes her face from the warmth of her blanket, hope in her eyes.
“Oh, I don’t know about today.”
I see the shuttering of her hope and hate myself for it. I glance back at the empty pots. There are so many of them. The task feels so big now, knowing it’s yet another task I have to do alone.
I miss Tate.
Not for the first time, I wonder how the ice broke. He’d been ice fishing on that lake every year we’d been together, and the years before as well. It was in the thick of winter, when the ice was said to be strong and stable…
And yet he fell through. God took him when I needed him and I just—now I just don’t know anything anymore.
My eyes sting. Mom must see it because she reaches out to touch my knee.
I clutch my cardigan tighter around myself.
“So, are you ready for the big barbecue next weekend, kiddo?”
I don’t think Dad will ever stop calling me kiddo. I adore it, even though I’m very much not a kid. “Not yet, but I will be.”
“Do you need me to pick anything up?”
“I’ve got it, Dad, thanks.”
“You let me know if that changes.”
“I will.”
“It’s going to be a busy few weeks.” Mom sits back in her chair, holding her coffee close. “The barbecue next weekend and the week after that is the end of another school year.”
I groan. “I know. They keep flying by faster and faster every year.”
“They never do slow down.” Dad drops a hand to Mabel’s back, rubbing. There’s a melancholy look on his face and I just know he’s thrown back to when I was little.
I bet he never thought that I’d be where I am now. A widow at thirty-one with two kids, struggling to right my upturned life.
The front door cracks and Owen lumbers out with Duke in tow.
Duke took to sleeping with Owen when he realized my son likes to snooze in.
Just like Mabel, his hair is a thing of the wild.
Only, where she’s utterly adorable, my growing boy is showing traces of the handsome man he’ll be one day.
There’s something about this messy sleep hair that throws me back to his younger years while also giving me a window to glimpse through into the man he’ll one day be.
The knots around my heart cinch a little tighter.
I wish he was little again so I could pull him into my lap and snuggle him close.
“Hey Memaw, Pepaw.” He lumbers to Mabel, ruffling her hair. “Mabel.”
Mabel giggles.
“And where’s my good morning?” I demand.
Owen turns to me with a grin. He lumbers to me, bends down and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Morning, Mom.”
I love my son so much. He’s going to be the best man one day. He already is.
And he’s going to be a good man because his father was a good man. He showed him the way to love his family, and I will be eternally grateful that we had him if even just for that.
Owen drops to sit on the step. All the seats are taken, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he stretches out in the sun. Duke sits close, waiting for pets. Owen doesn’t hold out on him, giving him an absent scratch behind the ear. “What are we doing today?”
“We’ll be heading into the shop around noon,” Dad tells him. “You got plans, Owen?”
Owen shakes his head. “No.”
“I want to get flowers.” Mabel sits up to swing her legs over the side of the swing. Dragging the blanket and her caterpillar across the porch, she climbs into my lap and snuggles close. “Can we go flower shopping today?”
“Maybe, Miss. Mabel.” I squeeze her tighter, because I know that all too soon, she won’t come looking for snuggles like these.
Dad stands. “My cup is empty. Anyone want another?”
Mom holds her cup in the air as I nod, but I’m distracted when I see Holt’s black truck park beside my SUV in my drive.
He appears holding a tray with coffee from Cherry’s and a box of treats. He starts up the steps, giving Owen a nod. “Morning.”
“Morning.” Owen takes the box Holt hands him.
Holt’s eyes sweep to Mom and Dad. “I would have brought more coffee if I’d known you were here.”
“All good,” Dad says. “Faye makes good coffee here.”
Holt tips his head with a gruff, “Morning.”
Mom beams. “Good morning, Holt.”
I almost roll my eyes because Mom is seriously rooting for my getting with Holt, which is kind of surprising considering—well, everything.
His dark eyes swing to me, and I’m taken back to last night and our kiss. My blood heats under my skin and my heart flutters in my chest.
Holt hands me a cup. I already know it’s a maple latte.
I take a sip and sigh in pleasure. Holt’s eyes turn molten.
My blood heats another notch. Mabel climbs down from my lap to hunt for the box of treats. Holt leans into the railing close to my chair. I can smell the scent of his spicy cologne and somehow—I have no idea how—but I think I can taste him on my tongue.
Pushing the memory of his kiss from my mind, I clear my throat and ask, “What are you doing here?”
“Last night, you mentioned you had no plans.”
“Last night?” Owen asks around his croissant.
Dad reemerges from the house to reclaim his spot on the swing, just as interested in last night as Owen.
I cough a little around the swallow of my latte. “Holt stopped by with steak. We had dinner.”
“I left before you got home.” Holt gives Owen his attention. “You have a good time at the movies?”
Owen nods. “Thanks again for the money.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Clearly Faye doesn’t have plans today, but it’s looking like you might, Holt.” Mom is on the edge of her seat. “What are you doing today?”
Holt chuckles. It’s a delicious sound that affects me now just as it affected me over a decade ago. Back then, it didn’t have the same rough edge it has now.
I shouldn’t like it. But I do.
I really do.
“I was thinking I’d take Faye and the kids to the greenhouse.” Holt toes an empty pot. “Get these filled.”
Mom claps. “I think that’s a brilliant idea.”
“Me too!” Mabel shouts.
Holt grins. “Why don’t you go get dressed, and we’ll hit the road?”
“Okay!”
She’s already racing for the door, Duke yapping hot on her tail when I yell, “And bring me a brush for your hair!” Mabel doesn’t answer. I huff, “She’s going to pretend she didn’t hear that.”
Mom laughs. “Without a doubt.”
Dad slaps a hand on his knee as he stands. “We should let ‘em get to it, Candy.”
“We should.” Mom stands.
Dad lifts his mug. “I’m taking this with me, kiddo.”
Mom agrees, “Me too.”
“Enjoy,” I call.
Mom blows me a kiss over her shoulder, and I think I hear Dad chuckle deep and low. They’ve watched me fall apart and rebuild myself over the last year. Now, they’re watching me sift through the mess of heartache for a pebble of happiness.
They think I’ve found it—in Holt.
“Thanks for the breakfast.” Owen starts for the door where Duke sits waiting. “I’ll go get dressed.”
“Make sure Mabel grabs a brush, will you?” I call after him.
“Sure, Mom.”
And then my son is gone, and I’m left alone with Holt.
My porch feels suddenly all too intimate. Too small.
When I breathe, I breathe in the scent of Holt.
It reminds me that the pieces of my heart I thought I lost to him so long ago are still there inside me, buried deep.
Because I feel them shift. I feel the tug toward him just as I felt it so many times before, when I was younger.
When I was less able to guard my heart against his stealth attacks.
If I’m being honest, I’m not sure I’m any more equipped now to ward off those attacks.
Even more, I’m not sure I want to.
And I think that’s what scares me most. Because what would it say about me to have loved him and then Tate and then him again? What would people say? What would they whisper and snicker? Would it hurt my kids…?
Holt shifts against the banister. He brings his coffee to his lips, and I just know he doesn’t drink a latte like me. If I’ve come to know anything about the man since his return, it’s that he’s not a fan of sugared coffee.
“What do you order from Cherry’s?” I don’t know why I suddenly have to know, but I do. Maybe he likes espresso.
“Just coffee, Faye.”
“Plain?”
“Plain black coffee.” His lips twitch. “I like it simple.”
I blink back down to my cup, which is most definitely the opposite of simple. I frown.
Holt shifts. He’s no longer standing against the railing of my porch, but directly in front of me. He crouches low and my heart flip flops.
“I like you complicated, Faye. Messy and beautiful and lovely just as you are.”
“What’s happening, Holt?”
He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t get the chance to reply before Mabel bursts through the door. She’s wearing the cutest yellow sundress with a tulle skirt and white runners. In her hands, she holds my brush.
She takes it straight to Holt, like she once took it to Tate. “Can you brush my hair?”
Holt straightens. He clears his throat and I watch as his big hand wraps hesitantly around my brush. When he sits in the chair Mom occupied not long ago, Mabel drops to her knees between his legs, facing toward the front lawn.
Gently, Holt begins to battle the invisible being that nests each night in her hair.
Mabel closes her little eyes and her little lips smile.
My heart fractures. Oh, Tate.